Wednesday, February 21, 2007

The End of an Era

After further contemplation, I have decided to amend my Lenten sacrifice. Instead of giving up beer and fried food, I will be giving up drinking (alcohol) during the week (Sun-Thurs) and fried food. I came to this conclusion as I was walking home from Rocks last night at almost 2 a.m. (for the second week in a row). The night started out innocently enough with a nice game of bar trivia. Since we had 11 people, we split up into two teams: Tim Hardaway Hates Kevin (Kevin being the guy who runs trivia) (comprised of me, Jester, Christoff, Remus, and the Brothers Weeser*, minus Greg of course) and Now Britney's Curtains Match the Carpet (or some other vague, sophomoric reference to the lack of hair on both her head and vagina) (comprised of Gregerson, three of his friends, and Myers). Kevin unfortunately changed the name-that-tune round so that it is no longer worth a point for the title and a point for the artist. Now it's a half a point each. This severely diminishes the point total of any team I am on. Nonetheless, THHK held a lead or a share thereof for most of the first five rounds, and NBCMTC was close behind. We were up one point going into the final round, and ended up tying for third, with NBCMTC edging us out for second, meaning they got to choose a round for next week (Seinfeld, by the way). Then it was discovered that the first place team had like 30 people, so they got DQ'd, meaning that NBCMTC not only got to choose a round for next week, but they also got the first place prize of 25% off their tab. Bastards.

It was at this time when I convinced myself that I should probably stay a little longer. Jester went home, severely unhappy that I was not accompanying her (and rightfully so). But it was Gregerson's birthday and, at the time, it was going to be the last time I would drink beer for a month and a half. Not that I needed a reason, but it never hurts to have one or two. So Gregerson and I rolled some Silver Strike while Dan Weeser* watched. Next thing I know, it's 1:40. I'm an idiot. I wasn't kidding last week when I said that I continuously and consciously fail to learn from my mistakes. Once again, Jester, sorry. With the help of Jesus, I shall change my ways. At least until Easter.

Tomorrow night will mark the end to a thrilling chapter in my life (and at least four or five of your lives), with the airing of the final episode of The OC (which RULES). As George Harrison and Mike Ditka independently once said, "All things must pass." I haven't been doing a good job of The OC updates as of late, mainly because I'm too distraught. Hell, trying to cope with The OC's absence has forced me to drink until the wee hours of the morning during the week.

Feeling nostalgic, I began to think of why The OC has plummeted in the ratings, forcing its untimely and unfortunate cancellation, and I have come to but one conclusion: There are no evil characters or characters with ulterior motives like there used to be, and all the formerly evil characters who are still on the show became less evil. Here's what I'm talking about:

Luke. In season one, this water-polo-playing, preppy bully was the perfect Roberto Duran to Ryan Atwood's Sugar Ray. Luke dated Marissa, who was spending more and more time with Ryan, and Luke was a giant asshole, getting into numerous fights with Ryan and eventually sleeping with both Marissa and Julie Cooper (I actually respect the shit out of that aspect of him). Then, for no other reason than finding out his dad loves penis, he goes from hated motherfucker (literally!) to friends with Ryan, Marissa, and to a lesser extent Seth, and then he to Portland with his gay dad.

Summer. She used to be a typical class-conscious Newpsie bitch you loved to hate, until some underfed comic book geek remembered verbatim a poem she had read aloud in grade school. Then again, she also used to be a complete dunce, and she got into Brown, so go figure.

Oliver. Classic first-two-seasons-style character. Wild, unpredictable, gun-toting, and head-slapping, Oliver was a recovering pill popper who wooed Marissa by making virgin mojitos, pretending he wasn't still popping pills, and telling Marissa that he had a girlfriend (who didn't exist). He was the kind of lying, all-is-fair-in-love-and-war, mentally disturbed nut job that made people tune in every week, hoping that Marissa would see past his fa├žade.

Julie. She used to be the Queen Bitch of Newport (an actual title I just made up). She was conniving, adulterous, and cold-hearted. Then one day she turned into someone who cared about things other than herself and money.

Zack. While not evil per se, he did make a good run at Summer, providing Seth with worthy competition for Summer's affection.

Caleb. That man would not rescue a drowning baby if it was right in front of his face, even if it was his own.

Alex. She wasn't evil, but I think the show could have used more really hot teenage lesbians.

That dude who had that stag flick Julie was in. All he wanted was to extort a little money from Julie in exchange for the promise to keep Julie's vagina off the big screen.

Trey. Ryan's brother was your typical Chino scumbag, never able to keep his head above water or his life together, and always pulling Ryan into hairy situations that usually resulted in fists flying or cars getting stolen.

Jess. Hateable, but bangable at the same time, Trey's saucy tart girlfriend was nothing but trouble, providing a formidable Nancy to Trey's Sid.

Dean Hess. Has there ever been a more disagreeable character in the history of television? I think not. Dean Hess was a gigantic dickhead whose cock-chugging ability was unmatched. And he was banging Taylor Townsend before that was the cool thing to do (i.e., when she was still a dastardly bitch – see below). While I was happy to see him fall, I would have rather it been at the hands (read: fists) of Ryan.

Charlotte. Played by Jeri Ryan, Charlotte was a fake alcoholic who tried to scam Kirsten out of a whole bunch of money. Her motives were unclear for her first few episodes, which added to the intrigue. Plus, I thought maybe she might start up a lesbianic relationship with Kirsten, which helped pique my interest.

Volchok. Eastern Bloc vampire surfers are rarely not evil. He was a complete scumbag – the kind of guy who would purposely shit his pants in front of his girlfriend's mom. He was also the kind of guy who would kill a delicate flower like Marissa Cooper. Oh how I wish he comes back for the final episode so that Ryan can finally pummel him, with the show ending with an '80s-sticom-style still shot of Ryan, covered head to toe with Volchok's blood and holding Volchok's severed head in one hand, looking at the camera with an impish smile and a lighthearted "oopsy!" shrug.

Caitlin. She tries to be evil, but she just comes across as a brat who needs a speech pathologist.

Johnny. He was not evil himself, but man was his hair something straight out of hell. Of all the people to die on The OC, I was most happy to see him go.

Taylor. She used to be a psycho, conniving, untrustworthy bitch trying to pry Seth and Summer apart, kind of like the female equivalent of Oliver. As noted above, she was even getting tagged by Dean Hess, which I'm assuming was a threesome, since he chugs cock 24 hours a day and since Taylor is rather kinky. Eventually, she turned into the pleasantly neurotic boy toy we know and love today.

I'm sure I'm forgetting a character or two. By the way, what the fuck ever happened to Ryan's baby with Teresa? I'm hoping this final episode features a brooding two-year-old with superhuman strength who brings Johnny back from the dead for the sole purpose of rekilling him.


Gregerson said...

I must share in some of the blame for your recent string of bad Tuesday decisions. Please apologize to your wonderful wife for me.

The Flash said...

or see

for the reason for the demise of The OC--indie-pop (music, TV, and lifestyle) is dying at an exponential rate.

in addition, Caleb also played a cold-hearted SOB on ABC's Lost. His scenes in last week's episode is truly dastardly. This dude asks him for permission to marry his daughter and he goes on a long-winded soliloquoy about trial and triumph and achievement and then grabs a $1000 bottle of McCutcheon scotch off a shelf as well as two glasses, pours one, drinks it, and says, "that swallow was worth more than you could make in a year. Get out of my office. You are not worthy." I think it's fair to say he's been typecast.

GMYH said...

Sorry about some of the picture links. I guess you can't link straight to a jpeg on The OC Online website. I sincerely apologize. At least among the links that worked were Oliver and Dean Hess, those bastards.